


Paparazzi

by whatkindoftea (haeli)



Series: Lady Gaga Throwdown [2]
Category: DBSK|Tohoshinki|TVXQ
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-21
Updated: 2013-08-21
Packaged: 2017-12-27 22:28:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/984349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haeli/pseuds/whatkindoftea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is so literal, it almost makes me sick, but I couldn't get the idea of groupie!Changmin out of my head.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Paparazzi

**Author's Note:**

> This is so literal, it almost makes me sick, but I couldn't get the idea of groupie!Changmin out of my head.

 

His ears are still ringing from the set, a pitched and disorienting whine, and Changmin can feel the bass thrumming through his chest as the next performers begin theirs.  Or maybe the pounding is just his heart hammering against his ribs as he breaks through the crowd and shoves through the exit doors.

 

Checking his phone for the time - he only has a couple of minutes - Changmin stumbles around the corner and tucks himself against the side of the building.  He rests one foot against the wall, hoping he looks casual and uninterested and that his legs look long and lean in the black skinny jeans he picked.  He’s pretty sure they do.

 

The crowd cheers from inside as the second band starts another song, and Changmin knows that Yunho should be walking out the backstage exit any minute, and the anticipation makes him lightheaded. He checks the time on his cell phone once again and fidgets, pulling nervously at the sleeves of his army green jacket, new and eye-catching and unlike anything else hung haphazardly in his closet at home.

 

The drummer and his bandmates always go for a drink at a bar nearby after playing a set.  Changmin has watched the ritual countless times - watched them drink their way through a pitcher or two.  He likes the way Yunho laughs with his friends, eyes curving upward under the force of his smile and rocking forward in his seat.   Changmin smiles himself as he thinks of one of his favorite pictures he has saved on his cell phone - the one where Yunho has his head tossed back and hands pressed together in front of him as he claps at a joke one of his band members told.  His profile is stunning, and it’s one of the best images Changmin’s managed to capture.

 

He’s jolted from his thoughts when a door opens and the noise from the venue pours into the alleyway.  Hurried, Changmin ruffles his fringe and shrugs in his jacket, trying to look carelessly rumpled - unaffected.  It’s the look that Yunho seems to go for when Changmin watches him go home with other boys.

 

The group of four young men clamor into the narrow side street.  They’re nearly shouting, still high from the set and the cheers of the crowd, jostling each other as the make their way past Changmin, who slouches a little bit more, leg extended and hips pushed out.  He plays with his phone, resisting the temptation to flick through his favorite album just in case Yunho walks over and sees.

 

Snippets of conversation make their way past the pounding in Changmin’s head and the noise pollution of the club, things like “legs” and “god damn” and Changmin knows they’re talking about him.  He looks up and catches Yunho staring, and nearly drops his phone in shock, even if it’s exactly what he wanted.

 

Yunho says something to his bandmates, and they all laugh and crow at him as he turns to where Changmin is still leaning against the wall.  Changmin manages to meet his gaze, and all the hours he’s spent watching Yunho on stage, in the hallways of school, or at the the little gloomy coffee shop that makes Yunho feel artistic - those hours mean nothing.  It’s so different when Yunho’s looking back at him, and he has to concentrate on breathing.

 

“I don’t think I’ve seen you at a show before,” Yunho stops just in front of Changmin.  Any closer and he’d be straddling Changmin’s thigh, and he tries not to be disappointed. This close he can see that Yunho has a couple of centimeters on him in height, but maybe that will change. Changmin’s still young and growing.  He can also see Yunho’s dark eye liner penciled on his lower lid, smeared from sweat, but it still makes him look smoky, a little dangerous. He’s wearing worn black jeans and a rowdy graphic t-shirt.  It’s Changmin’s new favorite outfit with the way it clings with sweat and shows off Yunho’s chest and shoulders.

 

He smiles up Yunho with a half shrug, “I’ve been around. You sounded great tonight - one of your best sets.”

 

“Oh?” Yunho sounds interested, and his eyes run down the lean lines of Changmin’s body, “You’re a fan?”

 

“You could say,” Changmin actually dislikes industrial rock - he prefers more emotion, more layers in his music.  What he likes is Yunho, and he’s pleased that the drummer seems to be catching on.

 

“How old are you?”

 

“Nineteen,” the lie slips from his tongue easily, there's less than a year between it and the truth. Just in case, Changmin arches slightly, showing off slim hips and some collar bone over the neckline of his unbuttoned Henley, and he loves the way Yunho’s gaze feels on him.  It makes him feel pinned and too hot under the jacket.  Yunho slides his stare up until it rests on Changmin’s mouth, and Changmin bites his lower lip out of habit. Luckily, the gestures seems to play well, and Yunho sucks in a breath.

 

“Wanna go watch a movie,...?” Yunho smiles and trails off, waiting for a name and sliding a little closer, hands straightening Changmin’s jacket, fingers trailing over the snaps and zippers and leaving Changmin a little unsteady.

 

“Changmin,” he manages around the excitement bubbling in his throat. It’s what he’s been craving after all this time, why he waited here for Yunho.  He nods, yeah he’d love to go. Yunho grins.

 

There are DVD bangs scattered throughout this part of the city - the university a few streets over and the thriving arts community providing more than a enough patrons to keep them up and running. Changmin doesn’t even see what movie Yunho orders, and he doesn’t particularly care - he’s not interested in watching anything other than Yunho.

 

The room is small - just a wide screen television and a two-seater couch.  There’s not a whole lot of pretense from the management’s end.  They know why young people come here: to get away from their parents and have some time for themselves.

 

And Changmin doesn’t waste any of the time he has - he’s spent too much of it at a distance.  The lights dim and the film plays, the opening full of smash cuts and dramatic voice overs, but Changmin’s too focused on the way Yunho feels under his hands, on being pulled closer by strong arms.  Yunho tastes a little like lingering cigarettes but mostly like the sweet mint of gum, and Changmin pushes for more as he straddles Yunho’s thighs.

 

“Eager, Changmin?” Yunho whispers as Changmin slides his hands beneath Yunho’s cotton shirt, tempted to scratch and mark the skin beneath his fingers like it would help his own itch, but resists and settles for pulling at Yunho’s belt instead.

 

“Yes,” he breathes, the clack of the buckle muffled by the sound of the lead character promising revenge on the screen behind him. Changmin pauses, looking down at Yunho in a moment of realization, “Is - is that alright?” He hadn’t thought about Yunho not wanting it - it seemed decidedly un-rockstar if Yunho asked him to stop, but he would.

 

“Fuck, of course it’s alright,” Yunho moves Changmin’s hands to the snap of his jeans, encouraging him with a slight thrust of his hips, and Changmin tries not to shake as he undoes the button and fly.  Yunho presses kisses to his jaw, teeth playing too, nipping along the edge of the bone as Changmin starts to breathe harder.  Changmin feels overheated, like he’s drowning in desert sand - everything hazy and surreal in the face of Yunho panting beneath him. It’s nothing like he’s ever captured with his phone before, and the reality of it all has him gripping Yunho’s cock too tightly at first try.

 

Yunho gasps, and Changmin stops, terrified of being thrown out - the thought crushing him, unbearable after waiting for so long. “Not so rough,” Yunho soothes, hands gripping Changmin’s hips reassuringly.  “Spit in your hand,” he directs softly, softer than Changmin ever thought he would, and he wishes he could record this, wishes he could replay it over and over again.

 

Changmin does as he’s told, licking his palm and fingers until everything is slick and wet, and he tries again.  Yunho arches away from the back of the couch, and Changmin twists his hand on an upstroke just to see if Yunho likes it as much as he does when he touches himself.   The answer seems to be “yes” because Yunho moans, long and low, and Changmin shivers at the sound, satisfaction adding layers to his arousal.  He’s actually getting Jung Yunho off, and the thought makes him dizzy with pleasure.

 

He gets lost in the small sounds Yunho makes.  The encouraging gasps when he runs his thumb over the slit, and the bitten-back moans when he sucks a mark onto Yunho’s neck while he keeps stroking him.  Eventually it becomes too much, and Yunho gasps out a warning that Changmin only barely catches through his own breathing and the blood rushing through his ears .

 

Yunho moans as he comes, painting Changmin’s hand with strings of white that drip onto his new black jeans.  The patterns against the dark fabric mesmerize Changmin, and he briefly thinks of taking a picture before he washes them off in the bathroom so no questions are asked.  He needs a souvenir.  Yunho kisses him, slow and lazy, and he masturbates Changmin the same way - too unwound from his own orgasm for anything else.  Changmin finishes with a wretched gasp that sounds like Yunho's name, forehead pressed into Yunho's shoulder to hide his mile-wide grin.

 

Changmin never finds out what movie it was, couldn't pick it off a short list if he tried.  But he doesn't really care.  Because next week Changmin's the one waiting backstage for Yunho to finish his set, condom in his back pocket and cell phone in his hand.


End file.
